


For Want of Penguins

by EmeraldSage



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alfred is a Mad Genius, Alfred's Petty is Genetic, Alternate Universe - Human, Arthur is Petty AF, Arthur likes to mess with his son, Climate Science, Father-Son Relationship, Ivan's just along for the ride, M/M, Misunderstandings, Penguins, Rusame Secret Santa 2019, Science Husbands, Siberia, but not really, you cannot convince me otherwise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:26:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21995974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldSage/pseuds/EmeraldSage
Summary: After an international coalition of scientists come together in order to solve the issue of global climate change, one can expect some level of chaos.  Chaos of the turning forests glow-in-the-dark and creating real-life Jaws animals variety.  So when the supervisory board of the new coalition need to split up the core squad of chaos-bringers, field researcher and mischief-maker Alfred Jones and his climatologist husband Ivan Braginsky are tag-teamed and sent to Siberia in order to collect data on the permafrost.  The only problem?Alfred thinks they're going to Antarctica, and is expecting penguins.  Ivan's not exactly telling him otherwise.It's his father-in-law's idea of petty that caused the miscommunication, and his husband's predilection for vengefulness is entirely genetic.  He's so not getting in the middle of that.
Relationships: America/Russia (Hetalia), England/France (Hetalia)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 80





	For Want of Penguins

**Author's Note:**

> Hi y'all! This fic was /way/ larger than I thought it would be, and I had waaaay more fun writing it than I should have haha. Happy Holidays, @aphchinass, I'm your Secret Santa! I hope you enjoy this fic!
> 
> Prompt: Alfred and Ivan are climate scientists on a research trip. Alfred expected to see penguins. Ivan failed to mention they were going to Siberia.

In a feat of world-shattering self-preservation, the global leaders of the world’s nations finally acknowledged that climate change was a serious problem, and that something had to be done - rather urgently - about the escalating situation. They formed an international coalition that appropriated scientists from universities, laboratories, and institutions all around the world, drafting them towards the cause of climate science.

Of course, while scientists as a whole were more prone to international cooperation amongst their fellows, there’s still a tension that comes out when a bunch of the world’s best and brightest are pulled from all four corners of the globe, shoved in one building, and told to fix something. And _then_ , are given access to a wealth of resources even privately funded scientists rarely had access to, and told to _go wild_ , just save the planet.

Needless to say, an immediate oversight and supervisory board was elected after the first time half of the newly constructed headquarters melted into a puddle of radioactive slime.

Though maybe if they’d been elected and up and running sooner, they would’ve been able to stop the lab explosion that turned half the forest around the compound neon purple, though admirably, with no further consequence or environmental impact. Not that anyone really focused on that part of the incident, given that the forest was now _neon purple_ and apparently glow-in-the-dark.

It was only when NASA started fielding alarmed messages from the International Space Station that they realized glow-in-the-dark also meant _visible from space_.

Internationally sponsored climate science research was heading off to a great start, thanks for asking.

Alfred Jones (who was occasionally Alfred Kirkland, though never at work) was one of the original members of that particular team of mischief makers that would come to be _professionally_ known as “Team Nightlight,” for their involvement in the Purple Nightlight Incident. Colloquially, of course, they had a baker’s dozen nicknames. Amongst those included: the Disaster Squad, the Terror Team, and the Merry Band of Mischief Makers. The supervisory board chair, Arthur Kirkland, was particularly fond of that last one.

Alfred himself hadn’t actually been present for the Incident itself, having been amongst the first team of researchers the coalition had sent to the arctic regions, incidentally just before his then-team of researchers would’ve finished developing the compound that created the Purple Nightlight Incident. Unfortunately, with the amount of... _concerning_ projects that went awry under Alfred’s brilliant hands - not counting the sheer number of inventions that had resulted from those unfortunate incidents and later been patented and released for public consumption - had tarred him with the same brush as the group of researchers that shaded towards “mad genius” instead of just “brilliant.”

And that was _before_ the Board realized there was a _pattern_ in the incidents.

“He’s one of the most brilliant field researchers we have,” Arthur Kirkland sighed, and no, that was not all parental pride in his son coming through, but genuine acknowledgment of his son’s ability, “but he’s just as brilliant within a lab. Only, the projects that he’s on have a tendency to go spectacularly awry, though usually with no... _serious_ consequences.” 

“You act like I’m not aware of this,” Ivan remarked, dryly, and Arthur bit back a snort. The climatologist was regional focused, and worked primarily with the Russian government and other organizations about the permafrost in Siberia, and coordinated with the mariners department regarding the global arctic melt opening up new waterways in the arctic region that Russia had access to. But when he’d been recruited by the board, he’d had to keep abreast with a general sense of what projects were on going. And even if he hadn’t, Arthur admitted to himself with a reluctant grimace, the exploits of the Merry Band of Mischief Makers was hardly a secret. Not with the weekly betting ring.

“I suppose then,” he said, “that you won’t be surprised to hear we’re reassigning him elsewhere for field research.”

Arthur’s problem was this: he _needed_ to get Alfred away from this new merry band of innovative mischief makers. Alfred was not by any means the worst of the lot, but he definitely had a sense of cosmic interference hanging around his presence. The incidents where Alfred was coincidentally assigned somewhere else beforehand were considerably lesser in scale compared to the ones that happened with him on the team, after all. And out of the merry band that had developed, only Alfred was a field researcher who did double-duty as a lab tech. So, conclusion: Alfred needed to be reassigned. Immediately. With someone capable who could handle him. Otherwise, god help them when the lot of them somehow made a gaseous cleansing solvent that would help reduce the carbon emissions damage to the atmosphere while turning the planet’s sky hot pink. Maybe the scientists would applaud and call it a job well done, but Arthur rather thought the rest of the world would have something to say about it. Loudly and with many, many riots.

_Honestly_ , between those incidents and the Jaws Reborn plot they’d just barely prevented, he felt like cursing the board blind sometimes. It was absolutely the last thing he’d needed: for Alfred to meet this new crowd of like-minded daredevils that the board had recruited for the coalition.

Ivan, much to Arthur’s eternal consternation, merely looked at him unimpressed, “And what exactly do you expect me to do with that news, Arthur?”

Arthur leaned back in his chair, “Well, a new project has just opened up. I think you’ll find it familiar.” He withdrew one of the files that had been spread open on his desk, closing it, and flipping it around before he pushed it towards the other man sitting across from him.

Ivan stared at him for a second, before he reached for the file. He reclined in his own, far less comfortable, visitor’s chair, before he flipped open the file.

It was nothing he wasn’t familiar with, of course. The project was essentially to study the permafrost in Siberia in order to confirm at what rate it’s melting and how else it might be affected by the increased carbon emissions. They would then be able to compare it to previous research data accrued from the northern arctic regions to ascertain similarities in geography affecting melt rate. They’d have to coordinate with Team Nightlight - here he grimaced - who were working on a device that, when planted in a test plot, would alter the surrounding soil composition and prevent it from rising above the highest expected temperature in the region from thirty years ago to keep the permafrost from melting even more than it already was. The team assigned to the region would remain there for 3-6 months to study its impact (daily test readings) and report back. If successful, they would work with Team Nightlight to enhance Project Break-VAC (the name of the device, he noted) to replicate the effects.

It was a familiar project, indeed. In fact, he’d been the one who’d written up the project proposal for a field research team. A field research team that should be relatively small - two or three people - who were familiar with each other, to avoid the nastier effects of cabin fever in Siberia. And one of the pair of researchers should be from Team Nightlight, given that they created the device they were testing. The other, probably a regional specialist.

The pieces connected.

Ivan’s eyes widened, “Oh no,” he breathed, “you’re _not_ pairing us together. Did you forget the last time we collaborated on a project?”

The explosion that had turned both of them, along with five blocks of the suburban lab they’d been working in at the time, a vibrant, visually assaulting orange left behind innumerous blackmail photos held gleefully by his younger sister, Alfred’s brothers, and the concrete the city had pulled up during the cleaning and put in a museum would remind him if he had.

Arthur shook his head, waving off his protest, “You’re not working in the lab together, heavens no,” he assured Ivan, trying to pass off his own shudder at the thought of it. No, the board wasn’t _stupid_. The point of splitting Alfred away from the Merry Band of Mischief Makers was to _lower_ the chaos potential. The results of the last time Ivan and Alfred had been within a block of a lab with each other had literally put a town in the US back on the map and drastically increased its economy because it went down in history as the _literally orange city_. “You’ll be processing the data and sending it to your research team, while Alfred collects the data and maintains the device. And also, unofficially, you’re his handler for the duration of your research mission.”

Ivan twitched violently. “ _Arthur_ ,” he growled, the echo of it sending two people outside the door skittering down the hallway at a far faster pace than before, “you _can’t_ …”

Arthur snapped the folder shut in front of him, shutting the other man up in the process, and pierced him with a _look_ . “Ivan,” he said, calmly but firmly, “this has already been decided. We needed two people who could live together, and who can work well together for extended periods of time _without_ killing each other or destroying life on Earth as we know it.”

“And you just happened to pick the two of us?” Ivan snarked grumpily.

“The board agreed _unanimously_ that Alfred had to get out of the compound,” he stressed, making Ivan wince at the thought of the stuck up supervisory board agreeing unanimously on _anything_ , “and of the available research projects and their accompanying researchers, you were the only one who they thought could handle him. I didn’t have any part in this decision.”

“And this decision didn’t come about because the board realized Alfred and I are _married_ , now did it?” the climatologist drawled, shifting again in the uncomfortable chair as his phone buzzed anxiously in his pocket.

“Of course not,” Arthur lied through his teeth. His son-in-law smiled, all teeth in his grin, at the answer. _Of course not_. 

Ivan felt his phone vibrate again as he twitched.

Oh, it wasn’t like he didn’t like spending time with his husband, don’t get him wrong. But he and Alfred had long decided that their work and their careers _had_ to stay separate from their marriage. The Paint the Town Incident only further illustrated the same point. They could adjust to living in different countries at times, of only seeing each other for a few months of the year - Skype and FaceTime had saved their relationship a time a plenty, especially in the beginning - and they _had_. They loved and respected each other too much to force each other to compromise on their careers, and one way or another, they would’ve had to. Ivan’s research was regional, he had to be based there, and while Alfred hadn’t minded moving with him for the first year, the culture shock combined with the differences in the lab environment - with people not taking him seriously or considering him a capable researcher because of how young he’d earned his laurels - he’d known it wouldn’t be a permanent relocation.

They’d all but expected their relationship to end when it had stretched to long-distance with Alfred moving back to the States. They’d been equally surprised that somehow - with a combination of late-night video chats, sharing month-long vacations together, time sharing each other’s home at different points during the year, and just persevering through sheer stubbornness - they’d managed to hang on, even strengthen their relationship. Five years on with that agreement, and they were married in all but name. They might not live together full time, but they were partners in every way that counted.

Actually getting married had been an accident. A Las Vegas vacation style accident that, while surprising, they hadn’t really felt the need to correct. It was an accident, not a mistake, after all. Though they did keep it quiet from their fellow researchers for the same reason Alfred had changed his last name when he’d entered the field - to keep people from attributing their successes to each other, or declaring favoritism where none existed.

And no matter what his father-in-law was saying to his face, there was no way they’d been put together on this assignment by _coincidence_. Not after the Paint the Town Incident.

Ivan’s phone buzzed again, urgently, in his pocket.

Arthur’s expression turned from a forced smile into a languid smirk, and he gestured at his pocket, “I think you should get that.”

He eyed his father-in-law suspiciously as he dug out the phone from his pocket, only to freeze, fingers stilling on the screen, as he registered the contact smiling on the background.

Alfred’s office phone was calling him.

He hit connect.

“Ivan!” his husband’s bright and cheerful voice bubbled over the phone, loud enough that his father-in-law’s smirk grew wider, “Ivan, Tino called me and let me know that you were in a meeting with dad, did you get the news yet?”

“Slow down, _dorogoy_ ,” he said, word and tone completely at odds with how he was glaring at his smug-looking father-in-law out of the corner of his eye, “would this be the news about our partnering together for our next field assignment?”

“ _YES!_ ” Alfred exclaimed, likely beaming, jumping in place if he was any judge of the other man’s tone, “Oh, I’m _so_ psyched, Ivan. I know we said we weren’t going to partner on work things, but they said it was a long-term assignment for data collection, so it shouldn’t be too bad. And,” he heard his husband’s smile gentle, “it’ll be good to see you.”

He felt himself soften against his stubborn will; Alfred’s smile always had been a weakness of his, “It’ll be good to spend some time together, yes,” he agreed, sending a glare to the smirking Brit across from him as Alfred continued to babble about the assignment.

“ - and it’ll be freezing, you know I’m the _worst_ at handling the cold, dude, but it’ll be so worth it.”

“Weren’t you on assignment in the arctic circle last winter?”

“Yeah, and it sucked! Even though the polar bears were cute, they were all hibernating,” he could hear Alfred’s pouting over the phone and laughed, “At least we won’t have the same problem with the penguins!”

Ivan paused, “Penguins?” he inquired dubiously. Siberia didn’t have penguins...not that he knew of, at least. He felt an ominous chill snake down his spine when his father-in-law’s smirk widened.

“Yeah! Antarctica’s full of them,” his dear, sweet husband could be so oblivious sometimes, that he knew. Oblivious enough to somehow miss Ivan’s choked coughing at that particular nugget of new information, “I know we’ll be around base camp most of the time, but I’ve heard they still see them around there too! And we’ll see some on the ice shelf on the trip in on the ship!”

Ivan felt completely speechless. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that his husband sounded so over the moon about going to _Antarctica_ , when Ivan was staring at the mission report stating that they’ve been assigned to _Siberia_. Just as he opened his mouth to clarify this glaring error in Alfred’s understanding of the mission, when Alfred’s end of the call goes completely silent, and then his husband comes back on the line somewhat frantic, audible even to Arthur.

“ - shit, Vanya, there’s an issue with the project we’re working on, I’ve gotta bounce before it goes boom, bye!”

There’s a ruckus on the other end of the line that has Ivan yanking the phone away from his ear as Alfred drops the receiver and bolts for whatever’s going wrong with the project, and both Ivan and Arthur stare at the device as the cacophony of frantic shouts and urgent beeping grows increasingly louder until it’s abruptly cut off with a muffled _boom_. They stay staring at the silent phone line - still connected - until they hear multiple people coughing noisily on the other end, and someone nearby picks up the phone to mutter, “We’re clear,” into the speaker, before disconnecting.

Arthur exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose to ease the growing headache. “I’ll...call the clean up crew.”

Ivan just nodded, before dismissing himself as Arthur reached to pick up the landline’s receiver and start calling in the incident. He swept through the hallways with a quick pace, glancing at his newest assignment with a reluctant grimace. It looks like he’d have to hurry back to his apartment to get packed. His flight to the base they were leaving from left in a few hours.

* * *

It was 3am, nearly 12 hours after he’d left Arthur’s office the day before, when he finally caught a glimpse of his husband anxiously tapping his foot against the tarmac as they waited for the helicopter. Alfred saw him only seconds later, foot freezing, whole body going still as he squinted into the darkness, and then beamed brightly when he noticed Ivan making his way over.

They met with a kiss in the middle, soft, easy and languid, as they’d done so a thousand times or more. Arms wrapped tight around each other until they were warm inside each other’s embrace, sheltered against the chill of the pre-dawn wind. And when they finally broke off the kiss, Alfred tipped his head back to meet his eyes and smiled.

“He _llo_ , lover,” he drawled, arms reaching up to wrap around his neck as Ivan’s tightened around his waist, “such a beautiful morning, ain’t it?”

Ivan snorted, “I don’t know much about the morning,” he replied, voice pitched in a low rumble, “but perhaps the _company_ …”

Alfred laughed, “Flatterer,” he accused gleefully, arms tightening, and he opened his mouth to add something, only to be drowned out by the _thump-thump-thump_ of the approaching copter’s blades beating against the air.

They disengaged from each other seamlessly, turning in unison to watch the chopper descend upon the designated square nearby. After a few minutes it took the chopper to land, the side door slid open and a figure popped out, heading towards them.

“Dr’s Jones and Braginsky?” the figure shouted over the whirr of the chopper’s blades, still going and ready for a quick departure.

Alfred nodded, and shouted back, “That’s us!”

The figure nodded, “Great!” they shouted, “you’re gonna have to load up quickly, gents. We’re running a bit behind schedule. You’ve done this before?”

“We have,” Ivan nodded.

“Alrighty, let’s go then!”

They boarded and settled in fairly quickly, according to the pilot’s grin. It occurred to Ivan then that he should probably ask where they were connecting first, since when he last checked their assignment folder, there had been no mention of the transit aside from the initial plane over to the main compound. His father-in-law had referred their joint itinerary to Alfred, and informed him of such when he’d called about the lack of information. The only thing he knew was that his stuff - except the one carry on bag he was lugging with him - had flown out directly from the compound even before he’d left it to meet the transport at the Canadian base.

He was about to ask after it, when something caught his eye. Instead of asking about the flight and their transportation, he ended up saying, “Where did that come from?” as he side-eyed his husband’s bag.

“Huh - oh,” Alfred laughed as he realized, “Oh, this thing,” he said, tugging at the penguin plushie Ivan had seen poking out of his bag, “Dad sent it to me as part of the gift basket. Whenever he has to send me on assignment somewhere he knows I won’t like, he always sends one to me, like it’ll make me feel better. Honestly, it feels good knowing he doesn’t treat me differently at work ‘cause I’m his son - I’ve worked really hard for that anonymity - but I like the baskets so I don’t tell him that.”

Ivan smirked, “Not a word,” he promised, in no small part due to the aggravation that Arthur Kirkland was about to bring into his life. “But you’re excited about this one?”

“ _Penguins_ , Ivan!” his bright-eyed husband exclaimed, “I’m not a big fan of the temperatures, but I love animals. Dad usually drops a hint in the basket about where I’m going if he hasn’t told me anything, and this one was a _penguin_. Which was weird, now that I think about it, ‘cause he knows I love penguins and this assignment would’ve been great, but I’m not gonna say anything...he’ll just assign me to the desert next time.”

_That_ sounded a lot like the Arthur Kirkland he knew. Screw respectability. Petty and very capable of holding a grudge was the common experience.

_Hmmm, to tell or not to tell?_ The real question was, who would get in trouble if he _didn’t_ tell, and let their destination speak for itself? It could definitely be him, because he’s had multiple opportunities by now to correct Alfred’s misunderstanding. But on the other hand, he contemplated it; his father-in-law had all but outright said that the misunderstanding was intentional, so why not shift the blame? Yes, that would work. And Alfred’s revenge petty plotting was brilliant.

“That sounds like your father,” he commented, redirecting the conversation away from the issue of _location_ , lest he accidentally give himself away. “He’ll never say anything straight to your face.”

Alfred snorted a laugh, tucking the penguin plush further into his bag to secure it, before shifting against him. “That’s Dad alright,” he chuckled, “I was worried for a bit that he was trying to trick me, but I got the packing list, and it’s the same one that Tex got when he went down there. I remember it because I helped him pack for it - we had to buy almost all of his supplies, he’s such a warm-weather baby. He was as grouchy as a bear about it for _months._ ”

Well, in Ivan’s opinion, that was how _most_ people reacted to being assigned to the Antarctica base for half the year. Even the excitement about going to the continent wasn’t enough to overwhelm the trepidation at being stuck there for _six months_.

“Speaking of your father,” Ivan said, using the opportunity to transition, “did he give you the itinerary for our flights? He told me he’d referred them to you and pointedly didn’t give me a copy.”

Alfred blinked and then snorted a laugh, “Is he still being petty about the Las Vegas thing?” The American knew he’d be hearing it for the rest of his life about denying his father a chance to walk him down an aisle or cry hysterical tears of denial at his wedding. And that was _nothing_ compared to what Arthur was probably putting Ivan through for being the _cause_ of the incident. It was enough to make the usually “professional to a fault” Brit more than a little vengeful. Even assurances that they’d have another “reception” wedding to make up for it when they were more ready to consolidate didn’t placate the man.

“Did you think he would ever stop?” Ivan asked him dryly, to which he snickered.

“I’ve got it,” he assured, instead of responding, and dug into his pack to retrieve one of the travel binders. Flipping to the first laminated sleeve, he folded it and handed the binder to his husband. Ivan scanned it quickly, routinely, before he blinked and did a double take.

“There are no locations after the Canadian base we just left,” he said, startled, and Alfred hummed in acknowledgement. He glanced down through the window at the boreal forests disappearing beneath them as they churned through the air, before responding.

“Yeah,” he said, “I had to call advance and get some of the locations from then, since Dad wouldn’t tell me _either_. Only told me I’d figure it out by the time we got there. Something’s definitely up with him, ‘cause he usually doesn’t do this kind of thing. And apparently, he got to advance before I could, though, cause they wouldn’t tell me anything after we board the connection in Anchorage. We’re heading there right now, they’re our next stop.”

Ivan ran through the mental map of the western North American coast to pin down that name and blinked, “Alaska?”

“Mhmm,” Alfred hummed in wordless agreement, sticking a pen he’d snagged from the binder between his teeth as he rummaged for something in his bag. “Mmmgfllkk,” he said.

“Try it again, without the pen,” Ivan remarked dryly. Alfred blinked, spitting the pen out, and obliged.

“I said,” he said, “we’re getting a smaller plane from there that’ll take us, and a few other researchers heading to the region, and heading out together. We’re the first stop.”

“Good to know,” Ivan hummed, “at least we’ll be in familiar company on the trip up.”

“Yeah,” Alfred agreed, twirling the pen nimbly between fingers, before tapping it on the pad of note paper he’d pulled from the bag. “We’re all from the coalition, that’s how they’re able to appropriate all the transport.”

“Makes sense,” Ivan murmured, Alfred nodding absently in response. Then, all they had left to do was settle in for the flight.

* * *

It was as their connecting plane from Anchorage was taxiing into a familiar airport that Alfred finally stirred from the heavy sleep he’d dropped into early on during the flight. He blinked into wakefulness against Ivan’s shoulder, right on time as always, and offered a sleepily warm smile to his husband, who’d watched the whole waking process with no small level of fondness.

“Good morning, _dorogoy_ ,” he murmured softly, in deference both to the early hour of the morning, and the handful of sleeping scientists completely crashed out just a few rows over. “How was your sleep?”

“Deep, thankfully,” his husband yawned, “Did you get any sleep at all, Vanya? I know you’re not as fond of airplanes,” blue eyes looked, concern blinking through the sleepy haze.

“Some,” he conceded, earning himself a large smile from Alfred.

“That’s good!” the American chirped, “I know you’re bad with planes, but trust me, I’ve heard things about the boat trip that connects to the base in Antarctica. We’d both be better off if we have some sleep under our belts before we brave the sea.” Ivan felt an abrupt chill race down his spine. He’d have to admit the miscommunication soon, or Alfred would find out the hard way, and that wouldn’t be good for any of them.

“Well...about that, Alfred -,” he was abruptly cut off.

“Welcome to Moscow,” a voice announced over the loudspeaker, and Ivan watched as Alfred’s face shifted abruptly from excited to confused to ominously closed off, “It’s an early 2am here in the capital city of the Russian Federation, the temperatures hovering at a chilly 8 degrees centigrade - don’t forget the unit change, my science folk! This is our first stop for any personnel departing for the Trans-Siberian Railway, your shuttle awaits! And for our quartet of field researchers connecting to Finland, your transport is outside the terminal ready to take you to the railway station. Just bear with us for about ten more minutes as we dock at the gate. For our passengers heading elsewhere, our next flight destination is the lovely Crimean peninsula. Just keep an eye out for the military escort, and you’ll be fine. Thanks for flying with us, and hope you have a wonderful day!”

Alfred turned to face him, _ever_ so slowly, a _look_ growing in his eyes that made him reconsider his entire plan to get his father-in-law in trouble. God help him, if his husband decided to murder him in a cabin in the middle of the Siberian wilderness, Ivan was coming back to _haunt the entire board_. “ _Ivan_ ,” his darling, beloved, far-too-terrifying husband said sweetly, “we’re not going to Antarctica, are we?”

“No, dear.”

Alfred exhaled sharply, fingers going up to pinch the bridge of his nose in a familiar gesture, before he turned his glare back on Ivan, “And _where_ did my _meddling_ father and the board decide to send us?”

_He’s focused on Arthur, praise the lord._ “Siberia, _dorogoy_.”

There was silence between the pair for a moment, even as a racket emerged further ahead of them in the cabin as the research quartet heading for Finland tried to deplane.

“There aren’t any penguins in Siberia, are there?”

“No, dear.”

Ivan watches the emotions in his husband’s eyes cycle through a very ominous set, going from light betrayal and rage, to disappointment, then tinting with a dark glee that made him very, _very_ nervous even as the longer his husband contemplated things, his eyes mellowed, and it made him more optimistic they might _just_ survive this bout of his father-in-law’s excessive pettiness…

A deep breath, and his husband sighs, and said, gently, “Oh _Ivan_ ...I’m not mad, babe. I’m just... _disappointed_.”

His eyes are dark. He’s upset.

God, they’re _so fucked_.

“I suppose,” his husband continued, “I’ll set up a call with my father to tell him that. It’s the least I owe him since he’s gone to _such trouble_ to taunt me about those poor penguins that I’m _not going to see_. I’ll have to send a strongly worded email to the board about their _misleading_ assignments.”

That just meant he’d be able to verbally eviscerate the board and get away with it. No one would be able to stop him since it was all going to be written out and probably sent to the entire board, cc’d to half the senior staff to make sure they all read it. Alfred could be a downright goofball most of the time, but put him in a professional, _politic_ setting and his polite setting could range from imposing to _cutting_.

And the worst part, Ivan knew, was that Alfred wasn’t _mad_. He was _upset_. When he was mad, he vented, let off steam, and got even to your face. When he was upset, and felt that he was _unjustly upset_ , like he was right now _because of the goddamn penguins_ , he got vengeful in a way no one would ever see coming.

_Wait._ A chorus of angels sang in a crystal clear hallelujah overhead. _The penguins_.

“Darling,” he said, clasping his hands over Alfred’s in a bold, sudden move that had Alfred refocusing on him instead of his vengeful plotting, “I know you’re disappointed. I apologize that I didn’t tell you sooner about our assignment.”

Alfred eyed him suspiciously, “I _am_ disappointed,” he echoed, “Which brings me to, _why_ didn’t you say anything sooner?”

“I was in your father’s office when he first gave me the assignment,” he said, “and when you called about it, you were so excited, and he might’ve _implied_ \- when I brought it up - that the misunderstanding was intentional. I would’ve corrected you over the phone but then there was the accident in the lab that cut the connection…”

Alfred’s eyes narrowed sharply.

“After that, the first time I spoke with you was on the tarmac while waiting for the helicopter. I hadn’t seen you in _months_ , my love,” he implored, “and you looked so happy! I felt awful just thinking about breaking it to you like that, and we’d had so long to travel still. I thought, perhaps, if I broke it to you when we landed in Moscow, I would have something to make up for the disappointing news.”

“...keep talking.”

“You know I have only ever wanted to see you happy, _dorogoy_ ,” he said, “That’s why I was looking into the Moscow Zoopark. Their penguins have recently hatched newborn chicks, you see.”

The brilliant, excited light that brightened his husband’s eyes told him that, whatever he was doing, it was _working_. He just needed to keep doing it, and maybe he’d be in the clear.

“I thought, perhaps, our shuttle to the train isn’t until later in the afternoon. Our equipment and our larger suitcases are being shipped straight to the cabin. We should have plenty of time to look in on the arctic enclosures, even if only briefly.”

Alfred paused, “How long are we talking here?”

Ivan ran the mental calculations, brain coming back online at triple speed with the adrenaline darting through his veins. Old memories from when he’d once lived in the city came back quickly, along with the train schedule long since memorized. He winced when he realized, “Perhaps only an hour or two by the time we get there, darling.”

“...but - but we’ll hardly have time to see the _penguins_!”

Ivan rerouted immediately, “I’ll take you back again after we’re done with our assignment, _provided that_ ,” he added hastily, watching Alfred’s eyes light up, some of that dark scowl easing, “you don’t get us both _banned_ from my home country by turning the permafrost colors.”

“I make no promises with science, Ivan.”

Ivan twitched aggressively at the gleam of mischief in his husband’s eyes, “You’ll get to feed them,” he added, a touch desperately, “I’ll talk to the zookeepers about that after-hours, behind the scenes tour thing they do.”

Alfred’s whole face lit up this time, a beam like the summer sunshine they were standing in, outlining all his freckles and warming Ivan’s heart down to its core. Crisis averted. He tucked his partner’s scarf around him snuggly in response as they readied to deplane, a single brow raising in question, “Deal?”

Alfred smiled, pressing close enough to kiss, and whispered the answer against his lips.

“It’s a date.”

* * *

**EXTRA OUT-TAKE**

The door clicked shut behind him and for a single, exhausted moment, Arthur Kirkland just rested against the wooden portal, basking in the warmth of his London townhome. After months of wrangling excited, overly exuberant and ambitious scientists with _no limited research budget_ to keep them in an appropriate range of crazy, he definitely deserved the two month break the board had forced on him.

With an abrupt sigh, he pushed himself away from the doorway, ignoring the darkness of the hallway until he reached the living space. He flicked on the light and dropped his coat onto the arm of the couch next to him. His small carry-on suitcase had been temporarily abandoned by the door, the larger one en route to the manor estate where he’d be spending the holidays. He was about to join his coat, and drop heavily onto the beckoning cushions of the couch, when another light flicked on in the kitchen, just across the hall. He froze, startled and wary, until a familiar figure imposed itself in the doorway connecting the two rooms, smiling at him warmly.

“ _Bonne nuit, cher_ ,” his husband’s cheerful voice reached him effortlessly, and he felt all the wariness in his body drain away.

“Francis,” he said, bemused, but also warm. It was always good to see his husband. “I thought you were staying at the manor?” He’d been planning on heading into the country towards their manor estate after a day or two of recuperating on his own. Lord knew that the moment he entered the estate, his days would be consumed with holiday activity, all his children along with all their antics and their significant others, and the sheer chaos that came along with the holiday season. Francis loved it, and while Arthur did enjoy it, after the year he’d had, he could use a few days to himself.

His husband’s smile was warm, “Alfred let me know that they were giving you leave a few days early, and told me you were probably heading here.” Ah, his nosy little mischief maker sticking his nose into it again. 

He sighed, not even phased, and his smile was wry, “Are the boys joining us for Christmas this year?” he asked, moving to follow his partner into the kitchen, where there was likely some form of food waiting for them. Francis wouldn’t have planned to surprise him and _not_ feed him. After months of “sub-par cafeteria food,” as his husband had put it every time Arthur had mentioned it - however briefly, in _whatever capacity_ \- to do anything else was considered akin to blasphemy in the eyes of the culinary genius. “I know last year Alfred only came over to spend New Years, he wanted to spend the holidays with Ivan’s sisters.”

“Ah,” Francis chuckled, “but they’d been newly married, then, and while Alfred and Natalya are close friends, he doesn’t know Katya as well as we know Ivan. It was family bonding.”

Arthur grumbled as they seated themselves at the dining table, but didn’t say anything. Francis snorted at his expression, likely reading it all from there.

“Don’t fret then, _mon coeur_ ,” he chuckled, “they’ll be at the manor. Likely as not, Alfred will beat us there. After six months stuck in the Siberian wilderness, I can imagine why.”

Arthur startled, “I thought they weren’t being discharged until the end of the week?”

Francis smirked, “I think the board pulled some strings when they realized there would be a little overlap with the two teams going in to relieve them. Something about a Team Nightlight reunion…?”

Oh dear merciful _god_. Why had no one told him this?

“I think Alfred asked the board to keep it quiet for a little while,” was his response, and Arthur blinked. He hadn’t realized he’d said that out loud. Francis smiled, stealing away for a moment to pull something - something that smelled absolutely _delightful_ to Arthur’s deprived stomach - off of the stove, before he returned. “They agreed easily enough. I think they were starting to realize how much stress you were taking on, Arthur.”

Ah, there was the disapproving, _you need to take better care of yourself, sourcils_ , tone he hadn’t heard in a while.

“Alfred’s been blabbing,” he realized a split second later. That was the only way Francis would’ve known about how ragged the board was being run, and how much of that was affecting Arthur. For being largely oblivious about nearly everything regarding his own life, Alfred was surprisingly in tune with the science community’s gossip. Usually if it was circulating as a rumor somewhere, Alfred knew about it.

Francis laughed, “Guilty as charged,” he said, a smirk twisting the corner of his lips.

Arthur rolled his eyes as Francis strolled back into the kitchen proper to collect and plate some of the delectable smelling food. “What else did he spill about?” he drawled, already bracing himself for some teasing once he got back to the manor. His brothers could be many things, but sensitive they were not.

“Well…,” Francis hesitated. Which was highly unlike him.

“Francis?”

“You can’t get too mad at him, _sourcils_ ,” his husband warned him sternly from inside the kitchen, surprising him. “He told me because he was worried about you.”

“What did he tell you?” he asked warily, though he would deny it to anyone who asked.

“He was so worried about the stress you were taking,” Francis explained, “so he let me in on your plans for after the holiday!”

“What plans?” he said, growing increasingly alarmed. There were no plans. None. He was planning on roasting in front of the manor’s fireplace and drowning himself in tea for two months while luxuriating in his husband’s presence.

“Arthur, he spilled the beans,” Francis said, looking so genuinely sheepish that Arthur knew he wasn’t acting. Alfred had actually spilled about some imaginary plan. “I know about the trip to France.”

Trip. To _France_.

“It’s so sweet of you, _mon coeur_ ,” his husband said warmly, smiling brilliantly, “I know you don’t really get along with my friends and family, so the fact that you’re willing to spend a few weeks down in France with us during the reunion was so considerate.”

He was doing _what now_?!

“And it was so romantic of you to plan a second, month-long honeymoon down in Spain and around the Mediterranean,” Francis’s smile was at a brilliant beam now, as it was whenever Arthur did something unexpectedly romantic. Romance was Francis’s domain, after all, and Arthur was more awkward than anything resembling romantic. Oh god, now he really couldn’t say anything about this. “Alfred was so worried about you overworking yourself that he asked me and Antonio to take over the planning so you didn’t have to concern yourself with it.”

“He was, was he?” he heard himself say distantly.

“Oh, don’t be harsh with him, Arthur,” his husband turned from beaming to chastising in a split second, that mother-hen vibe returning, “he was worried for you. And not to worry, _cher_ , Antonio and I organized everything! We’ll be holidaying for the next month and a half after the Christmas break, and everything’s been taken care of. You won’t have to worry about a thing.”

What the _hell_ had just happened?

“Oh, yes,” Francis said, just as he reappeared with hot plates in his hands, setting them down gently against the pot coasters, “he asked me to talk to you about it before we met them again at the manor. I think he felt upset that he broke the news to me instead of letting you do it. Ivan was going to take him to the Moscow Zoo to see some penguins to cheer him up before they flew out here.”

_Penguins_.

Everything clicked.

The nonexistent plans. The legitimate worry for Arthur’s health. The goal of having Francis be over-the-moon at his supposed “consideration” and romantic gesture, putting the elder man in a good mood over the holidays. The spontaneous Team Nightlight reunion that got the board to let Alfred on leave early. Early enough to get to the manor before Arthur but late enough that he’d avoided an encounter before then. _The fucking penguins_.

He’d just been played. He’d been out-pettied.

“Not to worry, darling,” he heard himself say, raising his glass of the wine Francis had set down next to each of their plates, “It was very considerate of him.”

_Well played, brat. Well played._

“Why don’t you tell me what kind of things you and Antonio have planned?”

_Now it’s my turn_.

**Author's Note:**

> BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! In which Alfred proves his petty hehehehe


End file.
